


Bloom, Wither, Grow Again

by bedheadedhero



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Hanahaki AU, Major Endgame Spoilers, Multi, alfyn gets sick and love is the best medicine, not actually all THAT angsty though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 08:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16133189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bedheadedhero/pseuds/bedheadedhero
Summary: The Gardener's Cough is something of a magic based illness, Alfyn supposes. An insidious infection born of a wistful heart.And he always has been sentimental.hanahaki AU- AlfPrim, with a happy ending.Haanilia is mentioned as well.





	Bloom, Wither, Grow Again

**Author's Note:**

> I hammered this out in one afternoon after getting bit by the inspiration bug. I know it's a rarepair but I really do love these two. I hope you can get some enjoyment from this.
> 
> I do basic proofreading- please excuse any typos or errors I miss in doing so.
> 
> If you've interest in more content from me, my art accounts on tumblr and twitter are "surfinpikaa."

Magic was profoundly embedded in the continent of Orsterra and the surrounding world.

Some things remained mysterious in ways that could not be truly investigated, but worked around enough to control nonetheless. Mana, ethereal forces, that sort of thing.

Alfyn was still getting the hang of the more technical bits of magic. He was by all means one of Cyrus' quickest students, or so he was told, but that didn't mean he understood all the fancy language of the textbooks and tomes he was beginning to study. Practical education was much more effective for him- practice battles, in short. Hands on learning had always been his style.

That said, Alfyn was no fool either. By all accounts he was actually quite brilliant, full of an inquisitive nature and a talent for critical thought. Perhaps, in fact, he would have been a man much more like Cyrus in another life. But such thoughts would not quicken his learning or his journey.

...The pain, a twinge, first came during their merry band's first visit to Stillsnow.

Alfyn attributed it to the cold without any thought. He'd no idea at the time what was really beginning to foster inside him, when Primrose gently led him away from the brothel, quietly expounding on her words and explaining- patiently- what a terrible thing they really were. She understood, you see, that Alfyn would never knowingly exploit someone or use them like a tool.

He was a boy from a tiny village in a remote region of the Riverlands. Sure, he knew the purpose of a brothel- but he had likely never known the dark undertones of how they came to be and really operated.

Primrose's solemn tone and pursed lips told him enough even as she just began. By the end, a sick anger at both himself and the men who ran the brothel or frequented it- it roiled in his gut like hot nausea.

It was only natural for a man Alfyn's age to be interested in the concept of a lover or of a clandestine encounter. Especially considering he had no... _experience_ to speak of. A crush or two, perhaps, but nothing that ever amounted to anything.

Not long after they left the Obsidian parlor, he found himself pulling Primrose aside and thanking her privately.

“Whatever for?” was her response, brow furrowed. She was wrapped in a cloak, covered still in reds and golds but more muted and much less revealing. The bitter cold was something she could handle better than him, being previously from Noblecourt, but she still needed to dress for the weather.

Alfyn shuddered a little. He hadn't been lying about the cold- he was truly not accustomed to such an environment and his nose had been running for hours now. Likely it was red as a cherry.

“For tellin' me what kind of a place this really is.” He gazed back at the foreboding manse with a dark distaste on his face. “I didn't know what kinda things those girls had to go through, Primrose. I might never have if you hadn't pulled me aside.”

Primrose's lips were pursed but her eyes echoed with something almost soft.

“So thanks. I could never forgive myself for doin' something like that to somebody. People, they ain't toys or things to be bought an' sold. I don't wanna be that kinda man.”

It was then that a small smile, like a flicker of light on Primrose's normally stoic features, appeared. “You're a rare one, Alfyn.” She admitted softly, “I've met many a man and few have as much sweetness in them as you. Your mother would be beaming with pride if she could see you, I'm sure.”

She patted his cheek gently. “The others are getting a bit ahead. Let's move along.”

Her hands were soft, petite. So much smaller than her large presence. Alfyn inhaled- and a sharp twinge buckled into one side.

He wondered if he'd suffered a bruise he hadn't gotten to. He pressed around, but the pain was already gone. Attributing it to the chill in the air, he furrowed deeper into the scarf Tressa had bought him before their journey up north. She was a sweet girl, Tressa, full of concern for her companions. Everyone had been gifted a scarf. Alfyn's was of course a deep and warm green. She had asked what colors they favored before making her purchases.

He jogged to catch up. Though not born with the body of the man he was now, the tinctures he was trained in by Zeph's father had staved off what puberty might once have made him. Now he was a strong bodied and rugged man in most aspects save one or two minor differences. (The necessary binding of breasts that had developed before the tincture recipe could be gotten a hold of, for instance.)

He'd been so sure of who he was so young, he never thought of or saw himself as a woman. And neither had much of anyone else in Clearbrook. Sleepy and small though it was, Orsterra was not a land of prejudice in such things.

Despite that, Alfyn felt that his unique position had helped him to better sympathize with the situation Primrose had described. Or perhaps he was just more softhearted than some.

For a time he forgot the pain. But with each encounter and conversation he held with Primrose, it returned a little more persistently. While discussing H'aanit's struggle. While worrying over the distant pain in Therion's eyes. While laughing together as Tressa tried to choke down her first pint.

* * *

 

When each breath began to ache and flutter, Alfyn knew.  
He was no fool after all- he was a damned fool for falling, but that didn't mean he couldn't see he was in love.

It was Primrose, of course. Her graceful steps and flitting dances, like the flight of a hummingbird. Her persisting kindness and sense of justice despite all she had already been through. The silly and teasing nature that hid behind her cautious gaze.

In the Riverlands, they called it Gardener's Cough. There were other names that stemmed from where it was initially studied across the sea (hanahaki was most well known, and considered the technical term).

It was based in the mana within one, tied to the heart and lungs. A strange magical illness that could kill you, if you didn't do anything for long enough.

It was born of unrequited love. A woman in Saintsbridge that Zeph's father treated had come down with it once upon a time. And so Alfyn and Zeph had learned quite a bit while helping prepare the concoction to save the woman's life.

Not just any unrequited crush could bear such a consequence, of course. It had to be a deep, stout, selfless love for another. Almost always tied to romance.

There was a foul little tincture that could cure it. It wilted and dissolved the flowers, but with their disappearance would go any feeling or connection the person felt to the object of their affection, often distancing them somewhat even from friendly feelings for a time.

As such a thing was not very appealing, some chose to bear the disease to death. They preferred the overwhelming pain of the flora bursting forth from them in a final push to giving up what they felt was a very important part of them.

Alfyn was no different, he discovered.

No matter how many times his fingers grazed ingredients for that concoction in a provisioner, he couldn't bring himself to buy them. Even as petals- like a daffodil's- began to catch in his throat with every coughing fit he had. They came up mostly dry, somehow, with specks of blood clinging to them. Telltale of where they had originated. The pain was an ache, dull and throbbing.

For a time he was able to hide it. A few coughs here or there could be blamed easily on hay fever. He swallowed fits until he was alone, often retching as suppressed blooms scattered into the air and fell, blotted red, to the floor.

When he met Ogen, he resolved as they parted ways to ask about it.

“There must be somethin' I can do that isn't, you know... _that_.” Alfyn pleaded, having managed to catch him alone as he was on his way out of Saintsbridge.

Ogen looked at him with genuine compassion that he had never lent before. “You truly are attached to her.”  
“Din't say it was a woman.” Alfyn replied, confused.

“I've seen, though.” Ogen sighed. “That dancer. You look at her like...” he sighed. Alfyn recalled Ogen's wife, and frowned.

“I'm afraid that short of winning her affections back,” Ogen offered, “The best you can probably do is treat the symptoms to delay the inevitable. Otherwise the tincture is your only choice.”

And that was that. Alfyn felt at a loss at first, but did some digging in his books. He hid the petals, carried a dark handkerchief to cough them into when necessary in public.

Cough suppressing syrups and a chest balm that vaporized to treat inflamed airways were what he could come up with. They didn't fix anything but they helped the pain.

* * *

 

Ophilia discovered his secret first.

It was when they were in Wellspring, not long before finding their way to Erhardt. Alfyn sat up with a cloak around his shoulder on the common balcony of the inn. He shuddered with chills now. A sweat and fever often overcame him in the night. There was more blood. The pain wracked him if he didn't half drug himself to cope.

The others had been noticing his lagging. Usually a powerful fighter, he had relegated himself to distance and magic. His control of spells was still to be improved, but their power was undeniable. Even still, the change in his speed and strength were noticeable. Nobody had pried much yet.

“Alfyn, why are you-” _awake_ might have been the next word to announce Ophilia's presence, had a retching fit not overcome the apothecary just then.

Alfyn gripped the front of his own shirt and doubled over in his seat. His hair was down, falling in wispy waves about his face and neck(it was soft, pretty when he didn't insist on ruffling it and tying it up). Petals burst forth from his mouth and scattered to the floor. Blood stung its way up and out of his mouth. Dripped from his lips like raindrops.

Ophilia had already reached his side by the time the first petals flew. A small hand gripped his shoulder and another rubbed his back until the tremors of exertion ceased.

“Oh, _Alfyn._ ” Was her soft lament.

“I'm all right.” Alfyn croaked, “Just a cough.”

“Not just any cough.” Was Ophilia's soft response, “Alfyn, you have a gardener's cough, I...how long has it been so bad? I suspected you were sick, but this is something else entirely.”

“Couple weeks it's been like this.” Alfyn admitted halfheartedly. There was no hiding it now, after all. “Been usin' cold remedies to help the pain.”

Ophilia was frowning. All things considered, she might have been at risk of this disease herself in another life. But H'aanit returned every gentle touch, every soft gaze, every affectionate gesture made in private. They hadn't had a proper talk- but all things considered Ophilia thought they were halfway to being lovers already.

Alfyn, though...Oh, poor Alfyn. He was such a sweet man- already like a loving brother to her in many ways. It wasn't pity or simple compassion in her, but a pain of sympathy.

“Can you not make some tincture to rid yourself of it?” She said after another fit had passed, “I've heard of such a thing.” She had also heard of its effects, but stayed silent.

“I ain't gonna do that.” Alfyn groused tiredly.

“Alfyn, you're in agony.” Ophilia coaxed, “You really will die if you don't do something.”

“I can't.” Alfyn said.

But his voice had cracked. A terrible sadness entered his eyes. “Can't do it, Ophilia. I don't wanna...I'd feel like I was runnin' away. That isn't somethin' I'm good at to begin with, and I...don't wanna stop feelin' this way for her...”

He inhaled. Might as well tell it all while he was here.

“'S Primrose.” He murmured, “And she deserves every ounce of love put to her, whether she knows it's there or not.”

Ophilia's gaze grew terribly soft. “Alfyn...you can't let your compassion blind you to your own situation, you know.”  
“I don't want to lose what I got.” He insisted, “Feels like I'd be killin' my heart.”

Ophilia wrapped him in a gentle hug. The sweat on his brow was frigid.

“You could...” She seemed unsure.

“You could always try pursuing her? Instead of staying quiet?”

It wasn't as if Alfyn hadn't considered it. Even so, he dashed the thought time and again.

“Prim's got so much hurt in her right now.” his voice was soft, “She's been through too much. She's got too much left to do.”

His smile was tender. “That single minded drive of hers is part of why I love her. And I don't wanna make myself a distraction. She deserves better'n someone who gets in the way of the closure she's after.” Better than that. Better than him.

Ophilia opened her mouth to argue again, but whatever words she might have said wilted away. Instead she sat with him a while, and eventually fetched him some sleepweed to help him rest after they cleaned the mass of red and petals off the floor.

* * *

 

Ophilia told all the others, with his permission, on the condition that they all keep it a secret- and that she not specify that it was Primrose who was the cause.

Alfyn and Primrose went to fetch supplies, and Ophilia spoke up as they sat on the balcony of the inn in Stonegard.

“Alfyn has the gardener's cough.” she announced abruptly.

All motion of tea drinking, eating- and Tressa and Therion bickering lightheartedly over their card game- stopped. They had all heard. An astonished hush fell over them like a downpour.

Cyrus closed his book. “Are you certain?” he asked softly. Ophilia's face turned to pain.

“I found out in Wellspring.” She said, “He was scattering them upon the floor when I found him...the petals, I mean. And so much blood...”

Therion's jaw was rigid. Tressa's hand had come over her mouth.

“This gardener's cough,” H'aanit spoke up, “I've heard tell of it. But such a thing is said to stem from only the most earnest feelings, is it not?”

Olberic hummed in agreement. “Just so. But if any among us has such a capacity for caring, I suppose it would be him. Selfish thought isn't something I think that young man is capable of.”

Therion was still stiff as he spoke. “Is he...doing anything about it?”

“...No.” Ophilia muttered, “I did try to convince him, but...”

“The heart is a strange thing.” Olberic said knowingly, “It betrays us in the worst ways at times, even as it guides us to our own truth at others. Alfyn is a man of sentiment. Likely he considers whatever love he has gained as a part of him that is not worth sacrificing.”

“In other words, he's beyond help.” Tressa said, “What should we do?”

“We might not be able to convince him any better than Ophilia.” Cyrus offered, “Perhaps we can aid him in other ways, however. Support from friends is often what saves a man most.”

And so they all agreed. And their journeys continued. Alfyn was more often racked by pain now, coughing violently. None of them could deny he was obviously ill. Though Primrose had no hint of the true nature of her friend's illness, she helped where she could. With a little digging they all found an effective pain relief balm for his chest and throat- one that did not greatly dull his senses. He applied it twice a day and seemed to be coping, at least, when they reached Noblecourt in the next leg of Primrose's journey.

* * *

 

The gaze she shared with Simeon gutted Alfyn to his core. He said not a word, gave not a glare. The pain was immense on an emotional level, but somehow he was happy for Primrose to reunite with someone she cared for all the same.

They all hardly noticed that she was not behind them at first, as Alfyn had another coughing fit. So violent that Olberic had to hold him up. It was only Ophilia's intervention with her healing magic that helped draw out the petals and soothe it. It took minutes.

Primrose was still not there.

Revello went back. He called her name in shock and fear.

Alfyn had not moved so quickly in over a month. The others were hot on his heels, but it was he who reached the bloodied woman in Revello's arms first.

“ _Primrose_!” He shouted, and slid down to the floor.

“Where's the bleeding?” He asked frantically. Revello helped him wipe away the oozing blood to reveal the stab wound in her side.

“Ophilia, I need your help!” Alfyn called, “Everyone else give us some space!”

A powder helped staunch the bleeding. Ophilia applied pressure to help it some more. Alfyn fished out surgical thread and a needle, then a syringe.

“You recall how I taught ya to give injections?” He asked Ophilia, who was all but his prentice at this point.

“I do. Tell me where.”

“Just aside her heart.” Alfyn said, “Works kinda like adrenaline, it'll help her stay with us while I work.”

Ophilia did as told. Primrose's body shuddered a bit, then a breath finally rattled out of her- but she didn't regain consciousness.

Alfyn took out mortar and pestle and ground up herbs and a clear fluid. He cleaned his sewing needle and, quite quickly, stitched the gash together so it would heal.

The paste he'd made was spread over a compress of gauze and taped down.

“Olberic, carry her. We need to hurry- the rest of what I need will be at the provisioners. You're a fast runner, ain't you, Therion?”

“Tell me what I need to buy.” Therion said immediately.

* * *

 

Primrose awoke, eventually.

She was disoriented. It took a good minute for her to realize she was laid up in a bed, in a night shirt and shorts. It took another to remember Simeon, and another for her to calm down and take stock of her surroundings before she tried to move.

She pulled herself to sit- her side screamed with a burning ache, and she choked back a grunt.

With a meal and a recounting of what had happened, they were off again. They had more places to be. Primrose was still shaky, but she would be fine now, they said. Just stay out of the front in a fight until things are more mended.

They were on the final stretch to the plains when Alfyn stopped her. He'd been so very sick of late- she had almost forgotten. But the slight pallor of his skin reminded her. And the bags beneath his eyes.

He had taken her hand- his was rough and callused from wielding an axe and working with his hands so often. But it was warm and gentle. She turned to him.

“Primrose.” He said her name softly, solemnly. His eyes were so full and soft. Pained.

He turned her palm upward and pressed a tin into it.

“What is this...?” She twisted the cap off curiously. Inside was a fragrant, partially transparent ointment.

“Medicine?” She asked. Alfyn nodded.

“If your wound gives you trouble, use that. It'll clear up the pain and encourage it to heal faster.”

 _Alfyn didn't sleep until you were stable_ , she remembered Ophilia telling her. She hadn't been surprised. Not exactly. Alfyn was an apothecary after all- it made sense to her that her treatment was thanks to him. But it was just hitting her now how truly close to death she must have been. A twinge of guilt played through her chest.

He looked so _tired._ Worn. Not like the Alfyn she remembered first meeting. So full of life and strength.

“Primrose, listen, I...”

Primrose waited. Alfyn sighed.

He wasn't sure what spurred it, but he tucked some stray hair behind her ear.

“I'm asking you,” He started, “It ain't as an apothecary, but as your _friend_...please...look after yourself.”

There was a beat. Alfyn's chest had burned all day. He didn't notice that the pain quelled a bit as he walked off.

Primrose was very aware of the skip her heart made, though.

* * *

 

...Something strange was happening.

Alfyn was feeling better. Not much, but enough that he could _notice_. Something was wrapping around his aches and pains, lowering his fevers. Still, he had lost sight of himself for so long, was so discouraged, that by the time they got to Orewell he wasn't thinking about it.

His hair had come undone and he was covered in dust and dings and scratches as the ogre eagle blasted away to lick its wounds, leaving a pinion behind in its flight.

Triumph soared in him and he picked up the feather quickly. He turned to the others with a spark in his eye and a beaming smile none of them had seen nearly recently enough.

He had been feeling better physically again too. Since the night at the tavern. Primrose had stuck so much closer than he was used to. Worried for his health, likely, but he didn't mind the reason.

He hadn't felt quite up to drinking recently, but that night he made his way through a few mugs. The teasing between he and Primrose as they left the bar that night had him feeling light...his chest felt light.

As he danced off to go shove the feather in Ogen's face, he didn't see the dancer's shoulder shaking with a laughter full of a new fondness.

Everhold had them all on pins and needles. As they passed through one of the final halls, Alfyn stopped to catch his breath. He was feeling better by the day, and it was strange to be sure. Fewer petals. Less and less blood. Something had changed, but his confused mind hadn't any idea what.

Primrose had stopped too. But she wasn't looking at him, rather the wall, blankly.

“Primrose,” He called once his strength was back, “Are you all right?”

She looked at him with brow furrowed. “I...” she started helplessly.

...She was going through more than ever now. He could see it.

“Shucks, Primrose.” he breathed, and walked over to her. “You're always charging straight ahead.”

He looked down the hall. “Full head of steam. You don't look right or left or anywhere else.”

Not really aware he was adding it, he said, “That's part of what I love about ya.”

He didn't see the slight widening of her eyes because he was still talking. “But ya know, you gotta stop and look around sometimes.”

She blinked a few times. She took a look around, literally. Alfyn almost laughed- that wasn't _quite_ what he had meant.

“Alright then. I've looked around. Let's go.” She said. Her mouth had touched up in a light smirk.

Alfyn's smile was warm. His chest felt soothed, warm...there was nearly no pain there at all, suddenly.

“Right behind ya!” He chirped.

* * *

 

He couldn't sleep.

After the battle with Galdera he had been wide awake a long time.

There wasn't much thought in his head now. He had seen Kit off- he was going to try and find some trade, perhaps do some soul searching. _It's time for me to let go and live the life my parents left me._ He said.

The rest of them stayed many days at the inn. Eventually Alfyn was able to get some rest, but he was plagued by nightmares of the fiend's face. Slowly, they all parted ways again- not without many promises of letters and reunions, of course. Cyrus to accept the headmaster's position at Atlasdam. Olberic to continue training Philip in Cobbleston. Tressa to take Therion back to her hometown, where he was hoping to take up the provisioner's trade. A promise made to Cordelia- he was done thieving. And Tressa was more than happy to have a new family member in him now that he had earned her respect.

H'aanit and Ophilia returned to Flamesgrace together. Their relationship finally come to light, H'aanit was spending more and more time with her and less in S'warkii. Wedding bells soon, Alfyn supposed.

It was when he was left alone with Primrose in Noblecourt that the thought struck him again.

He hadn't felt an ache in a long while. No petals. No blood. Not even a hint of a cough.

They had been silent on their trek through town. Primrose wore a dancer's garb no longer- she had taken her noble seat up again, and so a modest but tailored dress was her choice. She'd added leggings and sturdy boots for travel, of course.

The manor was looking much better than when Alfyn last saw it. A local man had been caring for it alone before, but with more staff employed with Primrose's return, it shone almost like new once more.

“Real fancy.” He said as they walked up the footpath, “Must have all the space you could want in a place like this.”

Should he ask?

He wasn't sure anymore.

The fight with Galdera had been long. How many times had he thrown his blade into an appendage to shield Primrose while she prepared a soulstone or spell? How many panaceas had he thrown over their group to staunch blood and close wounds? They had all nearly died many times.  
But in all of it, Alfyn saw Primrose the clearest. He always did. But that he did so even now...after the pain had subsided, after the flowers in him had gone...

The glimmer of hope was almost more painful than the sickness had been.

“It gets a little lonely, I'll admit.” Primrose spoke up suddenly.

Alfyn blinked. “I guess that makes some sense. Only had a couple bedrooms and one floor at my place in Clearbrook, and even that felt empty a lot once Mom was gone.”

“Alfyn.”

Primrose had stopped.

The sun was growing low, late afternoon blending to early evening. A clear spring day. The scent of the wind was grittier and different from the floral winds of the Riverlands. But it wasn't bad. Stone, shingles- the smell of a city that was thriving.

He stopped as well. Turned to Primrose.  
She continued before he could speak. “We've been through a lot together, haven't we?”

Alfyn nodded. “We have. All of us.”  
Primrose looked at the ground. Suddenly something was reluctant about her. Nearly shy. She didn't seem to know what to say.

 _Dohter take it,_ Alfyn's mind told him, _You better ask now before you lose your nerve, or you'll regret it forever, Greengrass._

“Primrose, how do you feel about me?”

Straight, to the point. It felt almost callous, but Alfyn swallowed the shyness. Primrose, however, flushed a pretty pink all of a sudden. The astonished looks was cute, the way her mouth dropped and her ears turned red.

“...that's sudden.” She admitted clumsily, “Why...do you want to know? Surely you're aware how important our friendship is to-”

“I love you, Primrose.”

Primrose stopped short. She didn't pale. In fact she grew red as a beet. “P...Pardon?” she asked.

Alfyn clapped a hand over his mouth and felt his own face fill with rushing blood. _Just up and said it like an idiot!_ He scolded himself.

“Wh-what I mean is!” He coughed. Primrose was biting her knuckles.

“What I mean, er...”

He sighed.

“Well, it's just that. You're real important to me...more than anyone else. I can hardly ever get you off my mind. You been through a lot...before now I never wanted to tell you. You had a goal in mind and I...didn't wanna get in the way, ya see?”

He was shuffling and avoiding her eyes.

“I've never been good at the whole...romance thing.” He went on, “Never had a crush work out for me, see. I was always just a goof to the girls in Clearbrook. The guys too.”

His chest bindings felt tight. His face was on fire. “But I still...love you. And...I don't know what you're gonna do from here, but...”

He scratched the back of his head. “Well, whatever you decide I'll be right behind ya. Always. You're gonna be okay, see, and I wanna be here when you find that peace you're after, so I can toast it with ya...er...”

She looked about to cry.

Alfyn felt horrible immediately. “Prim, are you okay? Did I say somethin' bad? You-”

Her hands fisted in his collar. He hardly had time to process it before she had jerked him down into a firm kiss. And then another. Another.  
She buried her face in his chest. She was laughing breathlessly.

“The flowers.” She stumbled eventually, “Oh _Alfyn_. If you'd only told me sooner. Those flowers were because of me...I'm so sorry.”  
The flowers. _The cough_. She knew...well, then.

A weak hand rubbed between her shoulder blades, shakily. “It's. Er. Listen, it isn't your fault I'm a dolt, you know?”

She laughed into his shirt. “You truly are.” She said.

She was looking up at him, cupping his cheek. “But Alfyn, that silly selflessness of yours is part of what I love about you.”

Alfyn stuttered. Sputtered. Clamped his mouth shut.

“I... _shucks_ , Prim.”

She kisses him again. This time stepping onto her toes and just reaching his chin. Her lips brushed the stubble he could never seem to stave off.

“Shucks, he says.” She snorts, and then her eyes soften. “Alfyn. I can't go on the road with you, but...”

She held his face in both hands now. “If you'd want a home here, when you need to rest...I'll always wait for you.”

Alfyn finally came to his senses and replied with, “You don't have to. I've been here all along.”

His kiss pressed to her forehead firmly. Chaste but sincere. And this time it was he that hugged her.

Where either of them would go from here was yet to be seen in full. But the petals were on the breeze, far away, and they could chase them together.

 


End file.
